


Taking Care

by hey_malarkey



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 2fords - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Incest, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, bad fake name bc i wasn't very creative and then i had too many words written to change it, blowjob, nurturing ford, old!ford/teen stan, the angst is in regard to stan's home life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/pseuds/hey_malarkey
Summary: Never once in his whole life has Stan had a teacher that gave a dam about him or his abilities. But their new science teacher is changing that. An older man that makes Stan feel seen and respected for the first time. Feelings blossom under the surface even as he resists after school tutoring and anything that keeps him away from his free time. But are those feelings a one-way street?





	Taking Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheeziswin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeziswin/gifts).



> I had a lot of the back bone of this written out in some form or another, but then I was given the lucky chance to actually pound this out and make it readable, when I received cheezi for my stancest discord secret santa recipient! It was a good time writing this out
> 
> *don't like, don't read, don't leave a nasty comment

Mr. Green called him after class. Ford offered to wait, but he’d finally found a couple of people interested in trying out dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons, and he didn’t want to keep his brother from that. He waved Ford off, saying he could handle it on his own, despite the slight nerves growing in his stomach. He’s been called to countless detentions and after-school meetings, he just didn’t get why this one was bugging him beforehand. Maybe because he actually sort of liked this teacher. He walked through the empty halls, a weird amount of apprehension settling in his gut.

He actually almost liked science this year. Mr. Green made it feel worthwhile to pay attention—and the cool experiments helped. But Stan couldn’t turn off being an idiot overnight. He’d failed another test, he  _knew_  he did. Pops was gonna be  _pissed_. And now Mr. Green probably wouldn’t let him do the next experiment. Maybe give him detention or extra homework or some shit.

He took a deep breath before entering the classroom. Tables in their rows with chairs placed on top. Mr. Green made eighth period students do it every Tuesday and Thursday to make it easier on the janitors. Draw a dick on the desk on Friday, and the whole senior class will see it and add numbers and insults and hilarious shit to read, kept on there til Tuesday. Stan smirked at remembering a few of the rumors started on those desks, penned by him.

“Ah, Stanley, sit down. One moment, I’m just finishing this up.” The smirk was wiped off his face at being addressed by his teacher. He lifted a chair down and slung his backpack roughly off his shoulders, hunching low into an impressive slouch. He just wanted to get out of here. He knew he was a screw-up idiot. What could Mr. Green say that he didn’t already know?

He watched Mr. Green finish writing something, shuffling the papers into a binder before looking up and focusing on him. He was missing the smile that characterized his lessons, the eagerness at imparting information to bored classes. He steepled his fingers for a moment, considering him, before standing and circling to the front of his desk.

“Why did you fail the test, Stanley?”

Stan didn’t look him in the eye. His gaze settled somewhere on Mr. Green’s chest.

“I dunno.”

“That is not an acceptable answer. Try again. Why?”

“What do you want me to say?” No one ever actually wanted to dig out why. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Mr. Green wasn’t deterred by his lackluster response.

“Why?”

“Water is wet, I’m an idiot.” He tried laughing, shrugging it off, eyes unfocused around Mr. Green’s left shoulder.

“No, you’re not, Stanley,” he insisted. “Why did you fail the test?”

Stan scrunched his hands into fists below the desk.

“I didn’t try.”

Mr. Green sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His movement lowered him, so Stan was looking him almost in the eye, now.

“Why?”

“What’s the point?!” Stan couldn’t help but let explode from him.

Mr. Green didn’t react to his yell. He still spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Stan, you are smart. You are—“

Stan snorted, glancing to the side, cutting off the rest of Mr. Green’s sentence. “Nobody here to impress. Don’t have to lie to make me feel good, teach.”

“Stan.” Stan looked up. Mr. Green looked very serious, and for a moment he almost thought he was in real trouble.

“What can I do to help you succeed?”

Stan cast his eyes to the cold black tabletop again.

“Why bother?” he muttered, fists clenching and unclenching below the desk.

“Why not?” countered Mr. Green.

“Ford—“

“We are not talking about your brother, we are talking about you.”

“But he—“

“Stanley.” Mr. Green stood and closed the distance between them, leaning with both hands spread on the cold desk between them.

“I’ve heard a lot since I started teaching here. I’ve observed a lot as well. And it seems to me that you are every bit as bright and capable as your brother, but you need different tools to unlock that potential.”

“No one’s as smart as Ford.” Stan mumbled, ignoring the glowing feeling the rest of Mr. Green’s words tried to give him.

“So that’s why you don’t even try?” Mr. Green asked, one eyebrow raised.

Stan couldn’t admit to cheating to a teacher, no matter how blatant Ford and he made it during all their other classes. Mr. Green was the only one to crack down on it. So he was struggling in it, even more than usual. They both tanked English, because Ford hated and didn’t understand half the dramatic elements. Especially symbolism and irony.

Stan got so caught up in thinking he forgot to answer. Mr. Green’s low voice brought him back to the situation at hand.

“Until we figure out what works best, it’s after school studying with me. We’ll get you caught up, or figure out a better method.”

“What? But I got stuff to do!” Stan complained, looking back up at his teacher in annoyance.

“As do I. Teaching. And just because you’re a different learner, does not mean I will give up my task. Starting tomorrow, report here at 3 pm.” Mr. Green stood back up and returned to his desk. Stan grabbed his backpack and headed to the door, but before he could make it Mr. Green called out his name.

“Stan—your chair.” Stan rolled his eyes and went back to put it up.

“Thank you.  See you in class, Mr. Pines.”

Stan gave a sarcastic salute and a “whatever” and walked out the door.

-

Stan was embarrassed to tell Ford how his meeting went, so he focused on asking questions about Ford’s nerd game group instead. His brother’s eyes lit up and he gushed about how they were starting their campaign and the characters they’d all created and one of the dungeons they’d started in and  _yadda yadda yadda_. Stan happily listened to Ford talk even as his bro’s words became a blur in his head.

They pulled out notebooks and assignments and Stan a deck of cards and their night went on. After Ford finished, Stan copied it down. They ate dinner, got ready for bed. Just as he turned lights out Ford seemed to remember what Stan had done.

“Oh, hey, how did talking with Mr. Green go? Are you in trouble?”

Stan shrugged on the bunk below Ford, fingers tapping the wall. “Nah, just gotta get tutored,” he mumbled.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

Stan coughed self-consciously. “I uhh… he said I have required tutoring or else its detention. Three days a week.”

Ford chewed it over. “That’s bullshit. Did you tell him I could help you with homework instead?”

Stan closed his eyes. “Yeah. Bust. Mr. Green said no.” He punched his pillow, turning onto his side. “This bites. It’s way less time to work on the stan’o’war, now! It’s our senior year. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Well, hang in there, Stan. Maybe it’s just until the next test? And it can’t hurt your grade any, right?”

Stan grunted and that was it for conversation. He heard Ford shuffle around a bit before falling asleep.

-

Stan reported to Mr. Green’s room after school, not really knowing what to expect.

“Okay, Stan, we’re going to go over your last test and correct it. We’ll see what you answered wrong, and then find the right answers and mark those down.” Mr. Green produced his test from a stack of papers. Even from his seat he could see it was covered in red pen. Stan scowled and sunk lower in his seat.

“Stan, go ahead and take out a fresh piece of paper and a pencil.”

He did, and they got straight to correcting his test. It was embarrassing, every question penned over with corrective ink, being told to look up in the book what he answered wrong, struggling to focus on the tiny writing on the pages. Even worse was that Mr. Green didn’t even seem mad about how long it took. They barely got through the first four problems before time was up.

“I will see you the day after tomorrow, Stanley. Good job today.” Mr. Green smiled at him and turned back to his desk in dismissal.

Stan felt like shit. Hopefully this would barely last a week before Mr. Green got sick of working with him. If today wasn’t proof that he wasn’t cut out for this school shit, and Green was wasting his time on an idiot like him, then he didn’t know what would be.

-

Mr. Green didn’t get sick of him. It took five sessions to correct the entire test with Mr. Green, and in all that time, his teacher never lost his patience with him or started yelling or called him stupid. It was weird. But at the end of it Stan actually knew the answers to the questions. It’s not like he’d ever use them in real life, but it felt good to know his shit.

It wasn’t over with the first test corrected, though. Mr. Green told him he wants to go over the lessons every couple of days, to be sure Stan stayed caught up. It was a serious cramp in style and available time to work on the boat, but. Stan liked his extra time with Mr. Green. His teacher’s eyes didn’t glaze over where he sat in class like he was part of the scenery. He felt like he almost belonged next to Ford in his classes. And Mr. Green never yelled at him for getting answers wrong.

And with Ford so busy with his new nerd group, and Pops trying to lever him into learning the ins and outs of the pawn shop ( _blech_ ) and not being able to do much more on the boat until Ford was free anyway, Stan figured he might as well keep doing these things. Mr. Green was actually pretty cool for an old guy. It would be okay.

(Not to say he wouldn’t keep up his image and complain a bit and show up late from time to time—can’t seem eager to be a nerd. That wasn’t his brand.)

-

Stan dropped heavily into his seat that day.

“You’re late,” Mr. Green said. “You know I want you to take this se—oh sweet Moses! What happened?” Stan turned his head away as Mr. Green finally looked up and saw the reason he’d been late. His teacher immediately jumped to his feet, coming around to where he sat. Stan still didn’t look up.

“Tripped,” he mumbled.

“Don’t pull that nonsense here. What happened? You need medical attention.” Mr. Green leaned down to try and examine the damage. Stan winced and hunched lower in his seat, despite how sore that made him.

“No, I don’t. ‘m fine. Let’s just do the lesson or whatever.”

“Stanley.” Mr. Green commanded. Stan looked up, squinting through his swelling eye. Mr. Green continued in a softer tone, his concern evident. “Stanley. I don’t care who started it, or if it’s a matter of pride to try and handle it on your own. I just want you to be patched up and safe. Will you let me?”

Stan waited a moment, head throbbing, wrist cradled awkwardly to his chest before nodding.

Mr. Green had him sit on the black table, taking down the other chair. It was too late to hit the nurse’s office, but luckily he kept a good stock of bandages and first aid supplies in his room.

Mr. Green asked a few questions as to  _how_  he got these injuries—punching or defending, etc. He refrained from asking who, though Stan assumed Green had a good idea. Stupid Crampleter and his stupid face and his stupid gang of stupid friends that hated Stan’s guts.

Green was inspecting his face. It reminded Stan his teacher also had six fingers, how weird it was to feel that grip and it not be Ford patching him up after a fight with a bully or their pops at two am, secretly.

Mr. Green gently steadied his face, one hand cupped under his jaw, the other holding a small penlight, checking for a concussion first. Stan was suddenly aware, propped up on the table as he was, just how close it brought his face to Mr. Green’s. Even through his bleary eye sight, he could see in high detail that Mr. Green was a good looking dude. Old, sure, but he acted so much more able than half the actually young teachers. His gray-brown hair with the streak on the side, his strong features. His strong but soft hands. The callous on the pads of his fingers cradling his skull—

Stan blinked a few times as the light shone in his eyes.

“Try to keep your eyes open, Stan,” Mr. Green murmured. Stan swallowed but did as he was told. After a few  _hmms_  Mr. Green snapped off the light and put it in his pocket, his hand momentarily retreating. Stan didn’t have time to feel disappointed before those hands were back, holding a damp cloth to wipe off the drying blood.

“I don’t think we should perform our usual activities of learning today, Stan. You don’t seem to have a concussion, and I’ve wrapped your injury about as good as it’s going to get by any other hand. But your eye is swelling to a truly impressive size, and you need to get some ice on that. Come with me,” Mr. Green says, gently tugging him by the arm to stand.

Stan’s a little wobbly at first, disoriented at the direction this was taking. Mr. Green looked at him, analyzing him. He moved his arm to the small of Stan’s back, Stan much closer than he’s ever stood to anyone he wasn’t about to knock out, before.

Mr. Green bent to pick up Stan’s backpack, then guided him out the door, checking both ways for anyone, a move Stan appreciated for his dignity. They made their way down the hall, to a room Stan has been in a few times, all for various pranks or theft-related activities spurred on by double-dares.

There was nobody around because what teacher wants to sit in their teacher’s lounge on a Friday after school? Crampelter doesn’t usually get so far with at least one teacher walking by to break it up out of obligation. But everyone had fled at the final bell except Stan, grabbing his stupid homework for science.

Mr. Green let him sit on the comfy couch, crossing the room to a fridge. He searched through and came back with a frozen pack of something Stan didn’t have time to read before Mr. Green wrapped it in some paper towel and placed it on his eye.

Mr. Green asked Stan how his other classes are coming, and Stan felt a wave of embarrassment. Bad enough he was flunking science, but he wasn’t exactly soaring high in anything else, except maybe gym. Then again Coach made him run extra lines for throwing all the basketballs to get stuck up in the ceiling. He may be flunking that too.

Stan mumbled some bullshit answer, but Mr. Green cocked his head, concern in his eyes stronger now.

“Stanley, I know I wanted to tutor you for my own class, but I am informed on a wide variety of subjects. If you need to work on your other classes, we can spend our time on other homework as well. You’re very improved in my class. The time I spend with you after school is your time too, and we can do whatever you want during that time.”

Stan nodded, tilting his head back against the couch, closing his eye.  _Great, now Mr. Green knows_ for sure _what an idiot I am. Can’t do anything right._

He felt the depression in the couch next to him, but he didn’t open his eye until he felt a hand settle carefully on his shoulder. He looked sideways at Mr. Green, barely turning his head, glancing at the six fingers squeezing his shoulder.

“I am a resource for you to use, Stanley. I’m glad to help you in any way I can. I believe in you.”

Stan closes his eye again, not responding. Today was too much. He couldn’t ignore the warmth that flooded through him at those words. They sat like that for a while, until Stan heard the fancy clock tick over to five, and he knew he needed to get home.

Mr. Green escorted him out, handed over his bag, and checked over his injuries one final time. His fingers were strong and sure and so,  _so careful_ , and Stan was embarrassed at the flash of attraction he got when Mr. Green stared him in the eye, checking his bruising.

Stan shook it off, walking home. But the way Mr. Green looked at him and held him was burned into his mind.

-

Today was a bad day. Two months into this and he’d had some shit days, had some dumb days. But today took the cake. Pa had yelled at him before school about being a screw-up, no-account piece of crap. Asking why he got cursed with a stupid, useless son, why couldn’t he be more like  _Ford_. Ford had left earlier than Stan to go over the answers to their last history test with the professor, because apparently he missed two extra credit points he wanted to argue. As if 104 isn’t good enough as a score.

School was shittier than usual and his thoughts got so loud in his head he couldn’t concentrate. Teachers calling him stupid, Crampelter and other shitheads throwing spitballs at him. It was too fucking much.

He popped off, yelling at Mr. Green, arguing and telling him  _exactly_ what Stan knows his worth is, and it was none of the crap Green ever told him he was. Stan yelled and cursed and he cursed more when he realized he was getting angry-upset, stupid tears welling up in his eyes.

He shut down, slamming into his chair, arms up and blocking his face, elbows on the table, head bowed. Stupid hot tears running down his cheeks as he waited for Green to finally get sick of his shit, and kick him to the curb.

He heard Mr. Green scoot back from his desk and walk around to stand in front of his desk.

Hands gently tugged his wrists away from his head, and Stan could feel how close Green was to him. Coffee breath puffed on his face. Stan didn’t want to look up, to expose his eyes that were sure to be puffy and red and the angry tears he could feel on his cheeks, but Mr. Green wouldn’t let that stand.

“Stanley, look up.” He hadn’t let go of his wrists, and the weight was reassuring, even as he shook his head at Green’s requests. “Stanley,” he repeated, voice low and full of concern, none of the anger or rage he expected, voice so kind that Stan couldn’t help but lift his head.

Mr. Green’s eyes found his, deep lines forming between his brows and a sadness that aged him 00staring back at him. He took a few hitched breaths, and he saw Mr. Green’s face crumple slightly.

“Stanley, you are worth so much more than what you believe. You’re not an idiot—I wish you could see yourself as I do.”

Stan shook his head muttering  _h-how’s that_ and wanting to look away but feeling entranced by Mr. Green’s deep brown eyes.

Mr. Green smiled gently, leaning somehow closer, and thumbs slowly rubbing his wrists as he spoke. “You’re so strong, Stanley. You’re so capable—you can take anything thrown your way, and find a way through it. You’re so clever, but so unconvinced of your own intelligence. It makes me so sad to hear you call yourself stupid, Stan. You’re so much to me, you’re—“

Stan leaned forward the last few spaces between them and pressed a kiss to Mr. Green’s lips. It was small and done in an instant, but in bringing his head back, Stan suddenly realized how badly he fucked up.

“Oh—oh shit, no, I didn’t—I’m sorry, I don’t—you’re—“ Stan tried tugging his hands free, face and neck burning crimson, sputtering, trying to get himself out of there. “Shit, I fucked up, I’m sorry, please don’t t—“he was cut off as he felt lips press to his briefly, sweetly. Stan went silent, eyes wide as he stared at Mr. Green. His teacher now wore a small smile.

“It’s alright.  _You’re_  alright. Let me take care of you, Stanley.”

Stan could only nod numbly, still trying to process what happened. Mr. Green had… _kissed_ him. Kissed  _him_.

And—and— _he wished he would again._

Mr. Green’s eyes were still full of that concern and smiling and Stanley felt the thumbs rubbing his wrists even more acutely now. How easy it would be to…

“ _Please_ ,” was all Stanley said, looking up at Mr. Green desperately, not sure what he was asking for, but hoping Green could provide it.

Green read the need in Stan’s eyes as he gently brought their lips together once more. After a moment he leaned back, re-gauging Stanley’s reaction, making sure this was what he wanted. Stan’s head followed after him, not wanting to be parted so soon after that sweet kiss. Green smiled and leaned in again.

Mr. Green kissed Stan and Stan was ready, this time kissing him back, eyelashes still wet as he closed his eyes and they leaned together. The thumbs stroking his wrists tightened their grasp. Mr. Green lifted them so Stan found himself holding onto Mr. Green’s shoulders instead. Stan tilted his head and their kiss deepened. Stan felt his seat move and Green’s hands reappear on his waist. His wide hands splayed over his ribs and down to his hips, almost.

Green broke the kiss and Stan opened his eyes to see a hungry glint in them. They were the same eyes that had watched him fail over and over for over two months, and still they wanted  _him_. Stan stood up, forcing Mr. Green to stand with him. Stan walked around so they were both in front of the desk, leaning up to kiss him again, and this time they each had a smile on their lips.

They went on like that for a while, their kisses not roving too far towards hunger, hands rubbing over clothes and not dipping under hems.

Stan was on cloud nine, couldn’t quite believe it was really happening. That Mr. Green would be kissing  _him_ , and meaning it. And despite how good it feels, how warm his teacher is so close, how strong a grip those hands have on his body, Stan fucks it up one more time by being an idiot, and breaking the kiss to talk.

“Why me?” he asks, slightly out of breath, suddenly too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I’m a nobody, know-nothing loser. You—you’re amazing and smart and, and—“

“Stanley,  _shh_.” Mr. Green brings one finger up to press against his lips. Stan looks up into Green’s eyes, pupils blown wide and brown eyes staring at him with emotions Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen before.

“You, Stanley, are amazing, and delectable, and very kissable. I want you, plain and simple.” Mr. Green runs his finger over Stan’s lips lightly, turning his hand to cup Stan’s jaw. “I just do. And if you want me too, I’m here.” Mr. Green gives him a small kiss before moving his lips to Stan’s ear, breath ghosting over his skin, making goosebumps rise up. “This is, after all, my time dedicated to you. What do you want?”

Stan thought about it, chewing on his lower lip as he did so. He looked down at the floor for a moment before back up at Mr. Green, who had moved back so he could look at Stan. His teacher said nothing, just stood in wait while Stan thought it over. Well. Stan wasn’t ever much of an over-thinker. Why start now?

“I want you to kiss me again,” he says, still mentally preparing himself for Mr. Green to say  _“No,”_  or  _“Jokes on you!”_

“Very well, that can be arranged.” Mr. Green places his hands firmly on Stan’s waist, lifting him carefully so Stan is sitting on the desk, facing him. He spins him a quarter turn, feet out to the aisle now, and Mr. Green leans down to kiss him. There’s no rush, no desperation. It’s just a kiss.

A deepening, long-lasting, delicious, amazing  _kiss_  from his  _teacher_. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that’s been low-key crushing on Mr. Green for the last couple months, thinking he’ll overthink that later, and just focuses on the now. Stan kisses him back, feeling a little out of practice—he didn’t get a ton of opportunities to practice kissing in the first place, let alone with someone as clearly experienced as Mr. Green.

Stan breaks it first, pulling back to take a few breaths, feeling his cheeks heat up as he asks a question. “Can you, uh…”

“What is it, Stanley?” Green asks, and he seems to only have eyes for Stan, not the clock ticking on the wall or the stacks of papers on his desk, or any other of a million better things he might have to do. But Mr. Green is staring at him and waiting patiently and smiling in  _just_  the right way, so Stan feels okay to ask his question.

“Can you touch me, too? I mean-or-or, I dunno. Just um—“

Stan didn’t catch the way Mr. Green’s eyes gleamed at the request. He does feel the soft way Mr. Green’s hands travel from his head, dragging through his hair and mussing it up slightly, down the sides of his face (over acne and the small attempt at facial hair), onto his neck and over his wide shoulders. He gets the urge to giggle when those broad hands go down his sides, and he squirms when his thumbs prod over his stomach, stroking it. Mr. Green’s hands are wide and firm and after a moment when they rub down his thighs, Stan suppresses a shiver.

Mr. Green knocks his knees apart, standing between them now, hands rubbing back up the path he’s just created. Sometimes dipping down to rub his thighs before slipping back up, traveling all over him. The whole time Mr. Green is giving his full attention to the way Stan’s body reacts, to his changes in expression, that small coy smile still in place.

“Is this what you wanted, Stanley?” he asks, and Stan can’t hear any mocking. He means it. He wants to know if Stan is enjoying this.  _Hell yeah, he is_ , he thinks.

“Y-yeah. This is perfect.”

“Good,” Mr. Green smiles and uses one hand to trail up his chest and up his neck, until one of his fingers is tipping Stan’s chin up towards his face. “Let me know if you want me to stop or change,” he says before kissing him again, deeper this time, making Stan work to keep from falling backwards on the table.

Mr. Green is  _right up_  on him. His open legs has his crotch pressed to Mr. Green’s. His teacher is pulling him closer, squeezing his grip tighter, pulling at Stan’s body and it’s so much  _good_  he doesn’t know how to react.

His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before he returns the hold his teacher has on him. He wraps them around Mr. Green’s back, sweeping over his body, one hand tangling in his gray hair. Mr. Green breaks their kiss at that, moving instead to mouth down Stan’s neck. Stan tilts his head, amazed at how nice that feels, and wanting to make everything easier for Mr. Green. He moans a little, surprising himself, and opens his eyes wide to see Mr. Green looking at him with a new, hungry light in his eyes.

“Is this good, Stanley? Tell me what you want,” he says, a new tone to his voice—not quite a growl, but low and husky. It sends a shiver down Stan’s spine, and it makes a hot feeling settle low in his stomach.

“You, I w-want this,” Stan says, turned on beyond belief.

“I’ll take good care of you, Stanley,” Mr. Green promises. Stan feels his cheeks heat up as an errant thought of  _you already do_  flashes across his mind. That’s too sappy to say out loud, he can’t even believe he thought it in the first place.

Sure, Green is hot and smart and he cares about Stan’s opinion and he’s asked questions about what Stan does outside of class, and whether or not Stan is safe after getting in a fight and, and  _shit._ Stan thinks.  _He has it bad._

But then Mr. Green is kissing him again, pulling his body to the edge of the desk to rub their groins together, and Stan lets the moment take over again.

Mr. Green is murmuring over him, he can’t quite catch everything in between kisses delivered to his lips, his neck, his chest once Mr. Green taps at the hem of his shirt and Stan takes it off, too elated to be embarrassed at his chubbiness.

Green kisses down to his chest, the slightest amount of a five o’clock shadow making it scratchy and

“ _Good, unnh_ ,” Stan moans, as Green continues down.

“ _Yes_ , let me hear you, Stanley,” Green whispers. Stan moans again when Mr. Green squeezes his bulge through his pants. Stan leans back so his hands are resting on the table, looking through lidded eyes at Mr. Green.

“Can I take these off, Stanley? Can I take care of you?” Mr. Green asks, tapping at Stan’s button. Stan nods, hopping off the desk for a minute to shuck them down, his shoes sliding off with the cuffs of his jeans. He’s just in his boxers and socks as Mr. Green takes a minute to just look at him.

“You look fantastic, Stanley,” his teacher says, and Stan blushes. He’s not used to being called so great all the time. He liked the way Mr. Green’s eyes glittered when he looked at him though.

Mr. Green traced over his skin once more, and Stan wiggled in place when he finally slipped his long fingers under his waistband, dragging it down until his cock bobbed free, red and hard and  _there_ in the middle of the science classroom he’s spent four years in. Stan laughed at the absurdity of this moment, and Mr. Green looks up at him, smiling wide.

He’s still smiling as he bends low, lips wrapping around the tip of Stan’s cock, and Stan squeezes his eyes to slivers, not ready for how dam  _nice_  that felt. His hands go to Mr. Green’s shoulders automatically, needing to ground himself (and keep from falling over backwards).

Mr. Green teased him, pulling off to lick down one side, his tongue heavenly, one hand wrapped around the base of Stan’s cock and squeezing lightly.

“Ah-oh shit,  _mmmh, yeah, m-mister–_!” Stan moves one hand up to Mr. Green’s hair, tangling his fingers in it. Mr. Green lets out a hum, and it vibrates around the tip of his dick where he’d gone back to sucking.

“Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one around, Stanley,” Mr. Green takes the time to say before diving back in, taking him deeper. Stan tightens his grip in Mr. Green’s thick hair as his teacher starts slowly bobbing his head.

Stan can barely take it. He’s already so hard, and Mr. Green feels so  _good_ , and he thinks he’s about to blow his load.

Mr. Green speeds up, humming again, and Stan knows he can’t last.

“ _Ah_ , shit, I’m gonna come,  _ahh–,”_  Stan tries holding off, tries tightening his hands in Mr. Green’s hair to pull him up, but Green pushes down deeper, dragging one hand down over Stan’s balls, rolling them gently, and that’s all he needs.

Stan comes with a shout, toes curling up and hips jerking and feeling the swallowing motion his teacher makes around his dick. It feels like it lasts forever but soon he’s left boneless, exhausted.

He lets himself flop back against the desk as Mr. Green pulls off his softening dick, a bit of drool and cum leaking down the side of his chin. Mr. Green wipes it off on his sleeve as he looks over Stan.

Stan’s exhausted. Today has been a  _day_. Mr. Green looks over him and comes around the side of the desk to speak easier. He bends low, placing a kiss to Stan’s forehead. He props him up, taking one large step over the desk, hopping slightly, to be able to settle behind Stan, legs spread on either side of the desk. Stan leaning into Mr. Green’s chest.

His teacher his warm, made cuddlier by the sweater he’s wearing. He feels surprisingly strong beneath it, and Stan wonders in his little haze where Mr. Green works out. If they could lift weights together.

“Let me know when you’re back, Stan,” Mr. Green requests, running a hand through Stan’s sweaty hair, another over his stomach, soothing him back into himself after the best orgasm Stan’s ever had.

It’s a quiet few minutes as Stan comes down, almost dozing against Mr. Green. He comes a little more back when Mr. Green laces their hands together. It’s a sudden reminder that his teacher has six fingers, too. He’s never told anyone this, but he loved holding hands with Ford when they were younger. No matter what bully came after them or what happened, Stan always felt safer when Ford’s six fingers laced between his five. He felt protected.

It’s a similar feeling now, and Stan looks down at their joined hands. Mr. Green’s thumb is running small circles on top of his hand. It feels good.

Soon enough where his legs won’t wobble, Stan climbs off the table. Mr. Green holds up his shirt and Stan gets dressed again. Stan looks anywhere but Mr. Green’s eyes, suddenly terrified that this was all a fluke. That it was a one-and-done kind of deal.

But before he can throw out an excuse and run, Mr. Green catches his face between those big, beautiful hands.

“I know what you’re thinking, Stan. It’s okay. These feelings are real, for me. I will always be here, and I will always be available to you. I want  _you_ , Stanley. It doesn’t have to make sense to you. All I ask is that you trust me when I say that my feelings are very real.” Mr. Green kisses him again, wrapping him in a hug briefly, before releasing him.

“If you want to see me before Monday, you can call me, here,” he passes over a card with his phone number on it. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

Stan looked down at the number in his hands, then back up at Mr. Green. He smiled big and nodded, agreeing. There was no way in hell he wasn’t calling him tomorrow. He turned and headed out of school, waving behind him.

Today had been a  _day_. Thankfully Mr. Green turned it into one of the best days of his life!

-

Ford watched the younger version of his brother walk off, a spring back in his step. He put a finger to his lips, thinking about the way this younger Stan had kissed him, how eager and open Stan was to him. For a moment he grew regretful, thinking about the way  _his_  Stan had never had a reason to develop his potential. How no one had cared enough about the “stupid twin” to give him the time of day at school.

He was glad he’d come here, to fix that. He was elated he’d been correct in his suspicions that Stan was warming up to him, that his disrespect melted away in the sight of genuine care.

Ford loved Stanley. Every version of him. But  _this_  Stan. Untouched by the bitter events of their senior year science fair, or the hard passage of time, or an interdimensional portal.  _This_  Stan was who he missed when he laid in bed at night, wondering when he let his life go off the rails.

He could be there for this Stan. He could be the presence in his life that keeps him from flailing and failing and falling, like so many other versions of themselves.

And he could love that sweet body he missed so much. In his dimension, his brother and he had had a relationship. They had one as old men, again, after years and years of pain. His Stan had said in more or less words what had been going on, all their lives. No one ever believed in him. No one gave a shit.

Ford was correcting that. He couldn’t save every Stan. He couldn’t save  _his_  Stan. But he could save this young one. He was going to take good care of him. Ford let his mind wander as Stan grew smaller and smaller, down the hallway until he was out of sight. Out of sight but never far from his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I love teacher!Ford being a nurturing presence, instead of the darker theme this trope seems to bring out. So this is good guy older Ford leading Stan and building him up. Taking care of him in all areas, not just school. This was a good time to write, and if you have any ideas to continue this, I am all ears and eager fingers :D
> 
> thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated :)


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